


Under His Wing

by TheDVirus



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: AU, Adoption, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Domestic Fluff, Dysfunctional Family, Family, Family Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mentor/Protégé, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-22 04:19:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16590731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDVirus/pseuds/TheDVirus
Summary: AU: Oswald grew up as a Van Dahl and when Bruce Wayne‘s parents and their butler are killed, he adopts the boy.A request from @danniruthvan





	Under His Wing

‘Hey Forensic Guy’.

Ed chuckled at the familiar voice. Selina was perched easily on the brick wall, looking down at him. 

‘Cat’, Ed nodded in acknowledgement before tilting his head towards Wayne Manor, ‘Kind of tasteless to scope out this particular house as a target isn’t it? Given the circumstances’.

Selina glanced up at Wayne Manor.  
The windows in the vast dwelling were dark, only serving to emphasise how lonely the house was. She had been watching ever since the guests had arrived there after the funeral. Watching the mourners one by one.  
Selina wondered if Bruce Wayne knew how alone he was despite being surrounded by ‘sympathy’ and ‘well wishers’?  
The very same people who had patted his shoulder or embraced him had been making snide remarks about the amount of money the boy had inherited compared to their own ‘paltry’ fortunes whilst making their way out. After gorging themselves on the cold buffet and the schadenfreude of Bruce’s misery no doubt.  
Selina had just about resisted the urge to snatch their wallets as they had passed her hiding spot in the bushes. She had standards even if nobody else did.  
Some of them hadn’t even had the decency to wait until they were ensconced in their limos before wiping away their false tears and driving away. Leaving a kid all alone in an empty house surrounded by cold objects.

‘Hey, give me some credit’, Selina said, tearing her eyes away, ‘I’m not on the clock right now. Just think it’s kinda sad’.

‘Yes’, Ed concurred, checking his watch, ‘Though one would question the sense of wandering down a dark alley in Downtown Gotham dressed to the nines’.

‘Right’, Selina said, rolling her eyes at Ed’s typically unsympathetic response, ‘And you say I’m the ‘tasteless’ one’.

Selina jumped down, landing easily despite the height.

‘So…it’s true?’ she asked.

‘Get the feeling that’s not really a question’.

‘Penguin’s really taking him in’, Selina said, ‘No other reason you’d be here Mr Chief of Staff’.

‘The Mayor has a soft spot for strays’, Ed shrugged.

‘Mm hmm’, Selina smiled knowingly, ‘See ya round Ed’.

Ed watched her go, wondering about the patronising pat on the arm she had given him as the front door opened and two figures made their way down the drive towards him.

** 

‘Mr Nygma?’

Ed closed the door of the limo once Bruce was secured inside and turned. The smartly dressed man who had addressed him stood with arms behind his back; his open body language and polite tone at odds with his focused stare. Ed recognised the look of someone meticulously cataloguing information and was somewhat intrigued to be on the receiving end for a change.

‘Mr Fox’.

‘You know me?’ Fox asked but Ed knew it wasn’t really a question. 

‘You applied for custody of Bruce Wayne’.

‘I did’.

‘No hard feelings?’

‘No hard feelings’, Fox said, offering a conciliatory hand.

Ed shook it as Fox continued talking.

‘Only strong ones I felt it was pertinent to make you aware of’.

‘I’m listening’.

‘Good’, Fox said.

Ed blinked as Fox’s grip suddenly intensified. Not enough to be painful but enough to act as a warning. Fox continued to smile easily at Ed.

‘If you or your employer ever threaten the life of Bruce Wayne’, Fox said quietly, ‘Even indirectly, I will find a way to end you’.

Ed smirked at the intense hold of Fox’s gloved hand around his fingers. His research had forewarned him that Fox had a black belt in ju-jitsu thanks to night classes. He had anticipated some kind of hostile reaction to his presence due to Penguin’s reputation. It was why he had kept his distance. He had not expected such a strong response from one of Thomas Wayne’s chief pencil pushers. Then again, people never expected anything from him and he was Penguin’s chief pencil pusher.

‘You don’t strike me as a man of violence’, Ed replied.

‘No, I am not’, Fox said matter of factly, ‘If I was, I would simply lace something that you were certain to touch with a toxin. Ricin maybe’.

Both men’s eyes darted to Fox’s glove as he released Nygma’s hand. Nygma, too amused by Fox’s fervour to be affronted, smiled despite Fox’s stony expression. What was it about Bruce Wayne that commanded such loyalty? 

‘I’d use saxitoxin’, Ed said breezily, ‘Harder to trace. But I like your style’.

‘You’re insane’.

Ed’s smile faded for the briefest of seconds and he yanked open the car door.

‘Was insane’, Ed corrected, ‘I have a certificate. Good afternoon Mr Fox’.

**

Penguin’s mansion was not far away from Wayne Manor but the silence was making the journey drag. Bruce was obviously in no mood to talk and Ed was in mood to figure out how to talk to a grieving child so he turned on the radio to hopefully cut through the oppressive, uncomfortable atmosphere. The only thing worth listening to was a gameshow and after a few moments, Ed was already infuriated with the lackwits who had signed up to be contestants.

‘Simon Trent’, Ed answered.

He was surprised to hear Bruce say something at the exact same moment.

‘Excuse me?’ Ed asked.

‘Simon Trent played The Grey Ghost’, Bruce repeated.

‘That show’s a bit before your time isn’t it?’ Ed asked, genuinely surprised at Bruce’s correct answer.

‘My Dad and I used to watch the reruns’, Bruce said, ‘It’s a classic’.

Ed inclined his head in agreement of this statement and in acknowledgement that there was indeed more to Bruce Wayne than met the eye.

‘Also correct’, Ed said, turning the radio down, ‘Oswald’ll be glad to hear that. He used to watch it with his dad too’.

‘I thought Penguin would have come himself’.

‘He wanted to but he didn’t want to disrupt the funeral. He thought reporters would swamp the place if they thought he was going to be there. He sent flowers though’.

‘Lillies. I saw the card. Is it true that Penguin’s family and mine have history?’

‘Why do you ask?’

‘People were talking at the funeral. If our families supposedly hate each other, I’m just not sure why he offered to take me in’.

‘Oswald will want to explain that himself’, Ed said, as the car entered the gateway leading to Van Dahl Manor, ‘By the way, are you sure you have everything? You only brought one suitcase’.

‘It’s everything that belongs to me’, Bruce replied, ‘The rest was…’

He trailed off and Ed interjected to spare the boy the explanation. Sympathy was an unfamiliar emotion to him but, looking at Bruce in the mirror, he was keenly reminded of a younger version of himself; huddled alone in one of his hiding places, wishing more than anything for someone to listen. Someone to help.

‘Well, if you discover you’ve forgotten something later’, Ed aid softly, ‘I can take you back to Wayne Manor so you can retrieve it, okay?’

Bruce shook his head vigorously. He sniffed hard before answering in a business-like tone.

‘It’s fine. Thank you, Mr Nygma’.

‘You’re welcome Master Bruce’.

Another sniff and a slight catch in the voice.

‘C-can you just call me ‘Bruce’? Please’.

‘Sure’, Ed said, stopping the car at last, ‘You know, despite what anybody may think, the Mayor really wants what best for this city. And for you’.

In the back of the limo, a treacherous little voice whispered in Bruce’s mind: _Just like your parents_.

**

‘Thank you for opening your home to me Mr Mayor’.

He accepted the seat he was offered in Penguin’s office. Ed had brought him there and left with his belongings. The Van Dahl mansion was smaller than Wayne Manor but equally luxurious. Despite its apparent lack of housekeeping staff, the place was spotless. It felt warm and inviting. Alive. Bruce reflected on how Wayne Manor had felt that way once.

‘Please Bruce, it’s my pleasure’, Penguin replied warmly, ‘And it’s Oswald. No need for formality here’.

Bruce sipped his tea, the pink wafer biscuit he had accepted to accompany it forlorn and forgotten in his hand.

‘Oswald? May I ask you something?’

His host nodded graciously and Bruce put his cup and biscuit down. He clasped his fingers together and met Oswald’s eyes, as he had often seen his father do when conducting business.

‘Please don’t take this the wrong way’, Bruce said carefully, ‘But, I don’t know how taking me in is going to benefit you’.

‘Benefit me?’

‘Well, I-I don’t have much authority at my fath-‘, Bruce cleared his throat, ‘-Wayne Enterprises so if you have any…ideas on how it should be run or-‘

Oswald held up a hand and Bruce stopped talking. He had expected to see Oswald incandescent with rage. Not smiling knowingly.

‘Bruce I’m not doing this for me. I’m doing it for you. And for your parents’.

‘I thought our families didn’t see eye to eye?’

‘For a long time, that was true. Waynes hated the Van Dahls. Nobody’s quite sure why. Ed’s done some research and thinks it might have had something to do with an ancestor of mine insulting an ancestor of yours when a marriage proposal was made. Whatever the case I’m sure it was an idiotic and utterly redundant reason but one that our families were happy to use an excuse to hate each other for decades. Until my father, Elijah, had a heart attack at a Gala’.

Penguin looked up at a portrait over the fireplace. Bruce’s eyes followed and realised it must be of Penguin’s parents. He was taken aback at the positioning of the happy couple and where the picture was hung. There was one of his own parents back…He swallowed a lump in his throat. Back at Wayne Manor. Not ‘Home’.

He reached for his tea and sipped again as Oswald continued his story.

‘The only person who ran to help was Dr Thomas Wayne’, Oswald said, ‘He didn’t care about an old grudge or what anybody would think of him. He only cared about saving my father’s life. Which he did’.

Bruce shuffled his feet and took a bite of the biscuit. It didn’t taste of anything.

‘It turned out my father had an undiagnosed heart condition and, prophetically, the only Doctor in Gotham with the experience to treat it was your father. During his treatment they realised how much they had in common. Your mother, Martha, always came for tea on Sundays with my mother Gertrud. I remember Martha sent lillies here when she died. A year after my father’.

‘They never said anything’, Bruce said, recalling how his mother would always have an ‘appointment’ on Sunday and how they had stopped a few months ago. 

Oswald, perhaps mistaking Bruce’s surprise for disbelief, reached into his desk drawer and slid a photograph across the table. Bruce saw his parents with Penguin’s, all laughing in the sun at a picnic beneath a large tree.

‘You may be aware my family has a reputation’, Oswald said, ‘A not entirely unwarranted one. My parents didn’t want the Wayne reputation to suffer by association. So, we kept up the pretence that our families were still at odds. The Waynes’ support helped me become Mayor. Even if they couldn’t help me openly’.

Oswald sat down across from Bruce and regarded him seriously.

‘And I only had my parents as long as I did because of yours. The least I can do is give you a home’.

Bruce couldn’t meet Penguin’s eyes, ashamed of how he had misjudged him. He had expected a sleazy politician and a crime lord grasping for control of his company. The worst thing was he now understood Oswald’s resigned expression. The face of someone used to people expecting the worst of him.

‘I don’t know what to say’, Bruce admitted.

‘That’s alright. I’m sorry you can’t stay in your own house but…’

Oswald trailed off but then sighed as if he couldn’t find the words. Bruce finished for him.

‘But my family has enemies’.

Oswald sighed again and nodded.

‘I didn’t want to stay there anyway’, Bruce said, hating how his attempts at nonchalance made him sound like a petulant child, ‘I hope I won’t cause you any problems being here’.

‘As long as you know my decision to become your guardian has nothing to do with my…business pursuits, I don’t care what anyone else thinks’, Oswald replied.

‘I’m sorry if I offended you’.

‘No offence taken’, Oswald said, waving a hand, ‘You’re young. When you get older, you’ll see there are many shades between black and white’.

There was a knock at the door and Ed’s face appeared around the frame.

‘Sorry to interrupt but dinner will be ready soon’, he said.

‘Thank you Ed’, Oswald said.

He stood up and walked around the desk.

‘We’ll talk more later’, Oswald promised, patting Bruce's shoulder.

Bruce nodded and walked towards a waiting Ed.  
At the last moment, he turned and said: ‘Thank you for sending the lillies’.

He didn’t wait for a reply from Oswald.

**

‘Is the bedroom alright for you?’ Oswald asked.

Bruce nodded. They were sitting at the dinner table and he could heard Ed busily preparing dinner in the kitchen next door. He had meant to ask what exactly Ed’s job description was because he seemed to be acting as Oswald’s butler more than his mayoral chief of staff. But anytime he thought of the word ‘butler’, his eyes suddenly began to prickle and a lump swelled in his throat.

Bruce had realised very quickly that his new bedroom had once been Oswald’s.  
Children’s books lined the shelves and Bruce had been instinctively drawn to a well loved edition of ‘Alice in Wonderland’. His mother had read to him one day when he was sick. He wondered if Oswald’s mother had read it to him. Thoughts of his mother made him feel nauseous and he carefully replaced the book on the shelf but in such a way that he wouldn’t see it unless he was actively looking for it.  
His clothes had been packed away in a dresser and wardrobe but his pyjamas had been folded neatly on the clean bed.  
There was a desk with a mirror hanging above it and Bruce had idly opened the desk drawer. Inside were a collection of ticket stubs from multiple cinema trips and a collection of old Grey Ghost comic books. Bruce flicked through one and smiled at the familiar sight of the Grey Ghost in his lair, racing to his Ghost Car to solve his next big mystery. Closing the drawer, he had opened the next and found a pair of boxing gloves, weathered from use.  
Oswald hadn’t struck him as a physical type but in the same instant Bruce had thought about Oswald’s reputed criminal leanings and realised that he had perhaps not gained the mayorship purely through diplomacy as he claimed.  
Beneath the gloves had been a photograph. A much younger Oswald, a dark haired skinny boy standing with his parents, smiling for the camera.  
Another lonely boy in a mansion.

‘Is something wrong?’

Bruce nearly jumped as Oswald’s polite voice broke through his reverie.

‘Sorry?’ he said.

‘You’re not eating’.

Bruce was startled to see dinner had been served while he had been thinking. A thick, brown, delicious smelling stew was sitting in front of him, the warm smell making his mouth water.

‘No need to be polite’, Ed said, taking his own seat, ‘If you don’t like goulash, I can whip you up something else. It’s no trouble’.

Bruce looked from Oswald to Ed. Both men’s expressions were understanding, accommodating, and sympathetic. Like they cared about him. The only ones who cared about him now. His parents and Alfred would never look at him again. All because of-  
Bruce inhaled shakily. His heartbeat was loud in his ears. He felt a cold sweat on his forehead. Something fell into his dinner. He saw the tear vanish into the murk only to be followed by another and another and-

‘Bruce?’

Oswald’s brow furrowed as he noticed Bruce’s distress.  
Bruce wiped at his eyes, desperate to hide the emotion spilling out of him. He didn’t want any more people to ask if he was okay! How could he be okay?! How could anything ever be okay again?! He was not a child! He was not going to cry! He was not going to cry!

‘Ex-excuse me’, he whispered and ran from the table.

He flung open the patio doors and fled outside into the rain.

**

 _It’s a panic attack_ , Bruce’s brain told him, _It’s just a panic attack. Just breathe. Just slow down. Just stop running! Why didn’t you run?! Why didn’t you do something?! You could have saved them!_

Bruce tripped over a tree root and fell into a pile of wet leaves and mud. Ignoring his stained clothing, aching lungs and the pain in his body from the fall, he kept running, the rain lashing his face like an icy cat of nine tails.  
Despite his intent to keep running and running and never stop, gravity had other ideas, yanking Bruce to the ground yet again, this time courtesy of a puddle that was deeper than it seemed. He grasped his stomach as it growled angrily at him, resentful no doubt of being denied a full meal. As Bruce scrambled to his knees, sobbing because of everything except the warm trickle of blood running down the inside of his trouser leg from the fall, he realised he hadn’t eaten in days. He couldn’t eat. Not at an empty table. He wiped angrily at his face, trying to fool himself that the wetness on his face was only rain and scowled up at the grey sky. He shivered as he got to his feet, his clothes sticking to him as he rubbed his arms.  
Bruce looked over his shoulder and saw the Van Dahl mansion like a lighthouse at sea. Despite the cold, he couldn’t face the thought of returning.  
Noticing a nearby gazebo, Bruce sat beneath it. No relief from the cold but at least he wouldn’t get any wetter.

He pulled up his trouser legs and winced at his scratched reddened kneecaps that were already starting to bruise. Shame burned in his cheeks at how he had behaved even as relief simultaneously flooded his system.  
He sucked in a lungful of clear, cold air and exhaled slowly.  
All he had wanted to do at the funeral was run but he had refused. Stayed there, locked in place because it was what was expected of him. Shook hands with people he didn’t know and said ‘thank you’ to keep himself from screaming endlessly. He had to conduct himself like a Wayne. To make them proud.  
But now there was nobody to impress. Nobody to please. Nobody to fool.  
Just him.

‘Room for one more? You've been out here for quite a while’.

Bruce jumped in surprise and saw Oswald standing outside the gazebo, a black umbrella sheltering him from the rain.  
Bruce was tempted to say ‘no’. Ask that Oswald, that everybody, just leave him alone. But the thought of being alone with the same thoughts that had kept him awake for three days straight was not appealing. So he moved up on the bench, giving Oswald room to join him.  
Oswald sat down and there was no noise but the sound of rain falling. Bruce tried to wipe his nose with his sleeve but only succeeded in smearing more dirt onto his face no matter how hard he scrubbed. He saw something white out of the corner of his eye and realised Oswald was offering him a handkerchief.

‘Aren’t you going to say anything?’ Bruce asked, his voice sounding rough and strange as he took the handkerchief.

‘What do you want me to say that hasn’t already been said?’ Oswald said gently.

There was silence again save for Bruce blowing his nose. 

‘Alfred made shepherd’s pie on rainy days’, he said, sniffing hard.

Oswald made a small noise of realization. 

‘I’m really sorry', Bruce said, 'It’s just when I saw the dinner it reminded me and-‘

‘Never apologise for grieving, Bruce’.

‘Is Mr Nygma your butler or your chief of staff?’

Oswald laughed and replied somewhat cryptically, ‘I suppose he’s both. And more. Like I hear Alfred was for you’.

‘I remember when he first made it for me’, Bruce said, red, leaking eyes far away, ‘I was trying to balance on the edge of an old stone well and it gave way. I fell through the boards and landed at the bottom. Broke my leg. I was stuck there for an hour, yelling for help. My dad came looking for me and got me out. Set my leg and put me to bed. Alfred made the pie to help me feel better. Get me ‘warmed up’ he said. I felt so stupid for making them all worry. I started to cry. And Alfred said ‘why do we fall?’ I didn’t understand until he gave me the answer’.

‘What was the answer?’

‘So we can pick ourselves up again’, Bruce said.  
He gestured to his clothes and shook his head, defeated.  
‘Great job Bruce’, he grumbled.

‘Well, you got up didn’t you?’ Oswald asked diplomatically.

Bruce seemed about to argue but then blinked, the logic of Oswald’s words impossible to ignore.

‘I-I guess so’, he conceded.

‘I’ll make sure Ed knows certain foods are off limits from here on out, okay?’

‘It doesn’t matter. I’ll never get to taste it again. Alfred’s-‘

The words caught in Bruce’s raw throat and he began to cry again.

‘Bruce, let it out’, he heard Oswald say, ‘It’s okay. I promise’.

‘It's not okay! They’re all dead!’ Bruce sobbed, ‘And they’re never coming back! I should’ve done something! It’s my fault they’re gone! It’s my fault that-‘

‘Bruce’.

For the first time in that single word, Bruce saw the ice cold gangster lurking inside Oswald. It was a tone that brooked no argument. He felt Oswald’s fingers clench on his shoulder as he forced Bruce to face him. 

‘It is not your fault’, Oswald said slowly, ‘Be sad Bruce. Shed your tears. It’s healthy and it’s expected. Once you’re done and I promise, the pain will ease, we’ll see about a much more indulgent emotion. We both know there’s only one person to blame here’.

Bruce, heart racing but head clearing, nodded to show he understood.  
Oswald patted his shoulder and let go.

‘They’re not coming back’, Bruce said, surprised at how steady his voice was. It hadn’t felt that steady in days.

‘No’.

‘It’s not my fault’, Bruce said and then repeated the phrase. With time he thought he might believe it.

‘No’.

‘I can’t be weak anymore’, Bruce said before turning to Oswald, ‘Can you help me get stronger? I saw the boxing gloves’.

‘You don’t even have to ask Bruce. I’ll support whatever you need to do’.

‘Even if I need to kill someone?’

Oswald’s eyes glimmered with something akin to pride.

‘I know how it feels to lose your parents’, Oswald said, ‘I can’t imagine how it feels to have them taken from you. I do know how revenge feels. It can be very therapeutic’.

Bruce found himself returning Oswald’s smirk. It felt good to have a plan. To have a goal instead of just memories.

‘I’m ready to go back now’, Bruce said.

‘Alright then. Would you mind taking this for me?’

Bruce took the umbrella. Oswald rose with a wince, leaning on a cane as he descended the stairs. Bruce took the steps with him, careful to hold the umbrella over Oswald’s head. There was no reason for Oswald to get as wet as he was.

‘How did you hurt your leg?’ Bruce said, ‘If it’s okay to ask’.

‘Like you I’ve taken a couple of falls in my time’, Oswald chuckled.

‘And gotten back up’.

‘It’s better to walk with a friend in darkness than walk alone in the light. Remember that Bruce’.

‘I will’, Bruce said, looking at the warm lights of the mansion as they drew nearer.

**

Ed was waiting for them at the patio doors.

‘We have a guest’, he said but his eyes widened as he noticed Bruce, ‘What happened to you?’

‘Gravity’, Bruce joked, rubbing his neck.

‘Ed, run Bruce a bath, will you?’ Oswald said, ‘It’s been a long day’.

‘Of course but Oswald, I tried to send him away but-‘

‘Am I interrupting?’ a new voice asked.

Bruce smiled at the familiar sight of Jim Gordon waiting in the dining room but his smile faded as he saw Jim notice his dishevelled appearance. The atmosphere in the room chilled and Bruce knew it had nothing to do with the rain.

‘Ed, go deal with Bruce’s bath’, Oswald said quietly as Jim approached.

Bruce saw a meaningful look pass between them and Ed left. Jim watched him go.

‘Not at all Jim’, Oswald said breezily through gritted teeth, ‘We were actually expecting you much sooner’.

‘What happened?’ Jim asked, pointing at Bruce’s soiled clothes.

‘Bruce took a bit of a tumble in the garden’, Oswald said.

Even though Bruce knew this was true and that Oswald was omitting further details to spare him embarrassment, he also knew the nondescript nature of the reply was not going to satisfy Gordon.  
He was right.

‘Trying to get away from you?’ Jim said accusingly.

The anger in his voice shocked Bruce. Jim had only ever been soft spoken to him, considerate, polite and professional. This Jim Gordon reminded him of the mugger in the alley: demanding and aggressive. It made his stomach twist unpleasantly.

‘Is that what you think?’ Oswald asked coolly.

‘You’re right. I should have come here sooner’, Jim said and spoke to Bruce without looking at him, ‘Bruce, get your things and-‘

Oswald limped forward, interposing himself between Jim and Bruce.

‘He’s not going anywhere with you’.

‘The Hell he’s not!’ Jim snapped.

‘How do you plan to protect him?! By bringing him into that nest of vipers-‘

‘Compared to leaving him here with you-‘

‘Gentlemen!’

Bruce cleared his throat. The volume of his voice had surprised him. But not half as much as it had surprised the two adults.

‘Is there some history here I should be aware of?’ he asked.

The two men looked at each other and both sets of eyes darted away immediately. Jim crossed his arms and Oswald’s mouth curved into a bitter smile.

‘Jim saved my life once that’s all’, Oswald sneered, ’To his eternal disgust. Despite what some people may think Detective, Bruce is not a prisoner here and I have no veiled intentions towards him’.

‘Scepticism’s part of the job description’, Jim said, shrugging.

‘Mr Van Dahl is right Detective Gordon’, Bruce interjected before Oswald could respond, ‘I’m here because I agreed to the arrangement’.

‘Mr Van Dahl? Very formal’, he said, raising an eyebrow at Oswald, ‘Thought you would prefer Bruce calling you ‘Penguin’’.

‘My friends call me ‘Oswald’’, Oswald said, ‘And unlike some people, I leave my work at the office’.

‘Can we get a minute?’ Jim asked, ‘Me and Bruce?’

Oswald looked at Bruce who nodded. Oswald’s mouth tightened but he acquiesced. 

‘By all means’, Oswald said to Jim with mock benevolence, ‘Have several if you like. But when Bruce says you're done, you're done’.

Jim watched Oswald go and only spoke again when he was certain he and Bruce were alone.

‘Bruce, I need to tell you about Penguin. He’s not who you think he is. Who he’s pretending to be’.

‘I’m well aware of Oswald’s reputed criminal connections Detective but he’s been nothing but kind to me since the moment I met him. I was exploring the grounds and slipped on some wet leaves. I appreciate you coming here to check on me but I’m fine. Really’.

Jim was quiet for a few seconds. Bruce wondered if he was scanning his words for a hidden message of come kind but finally he seemed to relax.

‘As long as you’re sure’, Jim said, uneasily, ‘But if you see anything you think seems odd or-‘

‘You’ll be the first to know’.

‘Okay then. Take care of yourself’.

‘I will’, Bruce promised as the door opened.

‘Bruce’s bath is ready’, Ed said, surveying Gordon as if he were something to be scraped off the bottom of a shoe, ‘I’ll show you out’.

‘I got it thanks’.

‘I insist’, Ed said in a dangerously polite tone, holding a hand towards the corridor that led to the front door, 'Wouldn't want you getting lost'.

‘Either of you have a problem with me calling in to see Bruce once in a while?’ Jim asked, with a hint of a challenge.

‘If Bruce wants you here, there’s no problem’, Ed sniffed, ‘We would appreciate advance warning next time though’.

‘Why’s that?’

‘So that we can make sure the kettle’s on’, Ed said with a smile that did not reach his eyes.

‘So it’s true then’, Jim said, giving Ed a once over, ‘You’re living here too’.

‘Where else would I be?’ Ed asked.

‘We both know where you _should_ be’, Jim said, just loud enough for Bruce to hear, ‘Goodnight’.

**

‘Have I caused you both trouble by being here?’ Bruce asked.

Ed took the dinner tray from him and smiled when he saw the empty bowl, pleased that his unintentional mistake seemed to have been forgiven in full. Bruce had asked for two portions of goulash which Ed had been happy to provide.

‘It’s nothing to do with you’, Ed said, fluffing up the bed pillow, ‘We’re well used to GCPD interference’.

Bruce was sitting on the bed in his pyjamas, rolling up the legs to double check the plasters on his knees before settling in for the night.

‘Did Detective Gordon say those things because Oswald got you out of Arkham?’

There was a slight clatter as Ed nearly dropped the spoon but he recovered quickly.

‘You’ve done your research’, he said appraisingly, ‘I’m impressed’.

‘It surprised me actually’.

‘What surprised you?’ 

‘Why he’s doing this for me. I thought…well…I misjudged him badly’.

‘Don’t worry’, Ed said, intrigued by Bruce's maturity and tendency to slip into formal speech patterns, ‘You’re not the first and he doesn’t take it personally’.

‘You’re sure?’ Bruce asked as he climbed into bed.

‘You’ll know when Oswald takes something personally’, Ed said, ‘Believe me’.

‘Have you been friends long?’

‘For a while now’.

‘How did you meet?’

‘Much as I love questions, it’s late and that’s a long, long story’, Ed said, gathering the tray, ‘Now, I’m right down the hall if you need anything’.

‘Thank you Mr Nyg-Ed. Thank you Ed’, Bruce said as he lay back.

‘You’re welcome Bruce’, Ed said.

He turned off the light and closed the door.

Bruce lay in the darkness and quiet, his full stomach grumbling pleasantly. He waited for the usual litany of blames and ‘what ifs’ to start running though his brain but they wouldn’t come. Instead a pleasant drowsiness began to fill his head, drawing his eyelids down like window blinds. He felt wonderfully emotionless and in the moment. Empty and content. As sleep finally came, Bruce realised in his last seconds of consciousness what the word was for what he was feeling.  
Safe.


End file.
